


bmc & deh requests!

by orphan_account



Category: Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz, Dear Evan Hansen - Pasek & Paul/Levenson
Genre: Alternate Universe - Flower Shop, Babysitting, Background Relationships, Cooking, Domestic Fluff, F/F, F/M, First Kiss, Gangs, Guns, Italian Mafia, M/M, Mild Gore, Minor Violence, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, The end of chapter 3 is up to interpretation, angst & fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-23
Updated: 2019-03-06
Packaged: 2019-08-06 12:05:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 4,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16387400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: i take writing requests y'all!!





	1. rules

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [writing requests](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15640824) by [worstgirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/worstgirl/pseuds/worstgirl). 



hey y'all!! i'm gonna take some writing requests!

 

some rules:

\- i'm not doing any smut. i don't care. no smut.

- platonic ships are good i was just tired of tagging ships. i may add them later.

\- i'll do fluff, angst & maaaaybe crack

\- i love aus y'all. bring em here. lemme squish em. maybe make em angsty. yes, i am an evil person.

\- NO SQUIP SLASH **ANYONE.** just no.

\- fun is required. i'm a southerner. i will squish you until you smile.

\- requests might get closed at any time. requests submitted while they're closed, i'll do those first when they reopen.

 

now stop reading and requests, cowards.


	2. rehearsal, babysitting, and other events

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I love you, Richard."
> 
> "I don't."
> 
> Christine stumbled backwards, almost tripping over a rehearsal block before staring Rich dead in the eyes, tears filling her own. "You... Richard..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Musical_trash! Hope you like it! I don't really like the ending, personally, but I had fun writing it and will probably write more of this ship at some point.

"I love you, Richard."

"I don't."

Christine stumbled backwards, almost tripping over a rehearsal block before staring Rich dead in the eyes, tears filling her own. "You... Richard..."

"I am in love with another," Rich said, turning away dramatically.

"Who is this woman? I will stab her - no, I will murder her! She has stolen the very love of my life, I cannot bear it!"

"The woman? Oh, Angela, you already know who she is."

"Who... oh, my god." Christine began to laugh bitterly. "Of all people to cheat on me with, you chose Ophelia? That old hag?"

"She is not an old hag!" Rich cried.

"She's my cousin, twice removed, twice my age, Rich! You're throwing me... you're throwing us away... for her?!"

"Don't take it personally, Angela. You and I both knew we could not go on after Elizabeth's death."

Christine slapped Rich in the face. "Don't you dare bring dear Beth into this, you scoundrel" She spat, glowering at him with murder in her eyes. "I can't even look at you!" Now, she turned around and clutched at the back of her neck with both arms.

"Elizabeth, dear, sweet Elizabeth, will live on in our hearts. But this relationship, you and I... it cannot be, Angela, it cannot be."

"Fine, then. Go, ruin your life with Ophelia. See how much I care. And when she's destroyed you, cheated on you with some... some sex worker... don't come crawling back to me, Richard."

"Angela.."

"No. Goodbye, Richard."

And with that, Christine snapped her head around, hair crackling like a whip, and strode off the stage, bright blue pumps clicking as she walked.

"Excellent work, Miss Canigula, Mr. Goranski. Now, we will take a ten-minute break, so that I can finish my Hot Pocket from twenty minutes ago. Go over your lines or something," Mr. Reyes said, stumbling out of the auditorium.

Christine came down the side steps of the stage, holding the heels in her hands. "God, I hate these shoes. But Rich, that was really good!"

"You really think so?"

"Are you kidding me? It was absolutely great, you've really improved!" Christine cried, hugging Rich suddenly.

Rich stiffened for a moment, but relaxed, soaking up her vanilla scent as he hugged back.

By the time she pulled away, Mr. Reyes was back, beads of red sauce and flecks of cheese in his beard. "Miss Lohst, Miss Valentine, Miss Canigula, Mr. Heere, let's work on Elizabeth's death scene. Miss Lohst, we especially need to work on your faint before your death, and let's not drag her across the stage this time, Mr. Heere."

-

After rehearsal, Rich pulled Christine aside in the parking lot.

"Yes, Rich?" She asked, turning around with a smile.

"Hey, I was wondering... do you wanna like, go to the mall?"

"Like, right now?"

"I mean, if you want."

Christine frowned. "I'd love to, Rich, but I have to babysit my sisters, Lana and Peaches. My mom and dad are going out."

"Well, then, can I come over and help you babysit them? I haven't met Peaches yet."

"Oh, well, I guess! I'd love company! Do you also wanna go over a couple scenes, too?"

"I'd love that," Rich said.

-

"Bye, Mom! Bye, Dad!" Christine called as her parents shut the front door, and she locked it behind them.

"Alright, Lana, have you done your homework yet?" She asked, turning to her six-year-old sister.

"No, but it's only a worksheet and a colouring page."

"Well, I need you to do that while me and Rich get started on dinner."

"Oh, alright," Lana said, turning and heading upstairs.

"Now, Rich, put Peaches in her high chair, and let's get to work," Christine said, turning to adress Rich, who was currently holding her baby sister with an awed expression.

"Your sister is adorable," Rich said, following her into the kitchen, and plopping Peaches into her high chair, which Christine had already moved into the kitchen.

"Thanks. She got all the best genes from mom and dad," Christine said, getting out a frying pan and setting it on a burner, pouring in a small bit of oil and turning on the burner, before reaching in her backpack and pulling out the script. "Let's do the scene before Think Of Yourself, and then the song."

"Got it," Rich said, pulling out his own script and flipping to the correct page and clearing his throat. "Dearest Angela, I write, safe and sound, from Paris. It is a beautiful city, but the people are hoity-toity and full of themselves. I miss Bristol. Has Elizabeth's condition improved as of yet? Always forever, your dearest, Richard Edwards."

"Dearest Richard, Bristol is well, Elizabeth is not. Why, just yesterday she fainted in the parlour and has yet to wake! Please hurry back once your business in Paris is done. J'taime, always forever, your dearest, Angela Evans."

In the place where Elizabeth (played by Brooke) would come in and sing briefly, Christine put hot dogs into the pan before speaking again. "Oh, Richard, thank goodness you're back! Elizabeth is so sick, I just don't know what to do."

"Angela, dearest, relax for a moment. You've done nothing but worry about Elizabeth for two weeks. Think of yourself!"

"Richard, how dare you? She is my dearest friend, it would be selfish to think of myself at this time."

"But, Angela, you're so pale! When was the last time you ate?"

Christine was silent, turning away slightly and biting her lip. "...Two days ago."

Rich gasped. "Angela, see, that's what I mean! You must think of yourself!"

The two barrelled into the song passionately, whirling around and occasionally turning over the hot dogs and spooning Peaches some baby food, until they reached the end, where Angela and Rich kiss climactically while Elizabeth fainted into Jeremy's arms in the background.

The song fed into a small song between Jeremy and Brooke, Edward and Elizabeth, twin siblings, as Brooke confronted her mortality and instructed Edward not to mourn her and then fainted as Richard and Angela sang in each other's arms. Ironic. And really smart.

Christine turned away and walked as far away from Rich as she could, before turning around and jumping into his arms, kissing him as Rich dipped her, but didn't have a good grip, and thus, she slipped and fell backwards, hitting the ground hard.

"Geez, you okay, Christine?" Rich asked, squatting down to help her up.

"Yeah, I'm okay. But good job, that was amazing!" She said.

"You were great too," Rich said, before rushing in and closing the distance between them.

Christine kissed back with all her might, and then pulled away softly, staring at him. Finally, she spoke softly. "You...?"

"...Yeah. You?"

"Yeah. Let's do that again. Not the scene, but the-"

"Yup," Rich said, cutting her off, and they swooped back in, forgetting their surroundings as they kissed.

 


	3. stolen flowers stuffed in the barrel of a loaded shotgun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Being the owner, manager, and lone employee of The Bloom Room meant he spent a lot of time there, and met a lot of weird people.
> 
> Most everyone was nice, didn't mind his stutter, bought flowers, and left.
> 
> And then there were the ones he told his mom about over Skype.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Dinosaurus! I don't think this is quite what you had in mind, but I had fun with it. Hope you enjoy!
> 
> TW for violence, guns, gun violence, mentions of murder, gangs, and very mild gore.

Evan Hansen had dropped out of college, packed up everything, and moved to Long Island because of Pinterest.

Luckily, it had turned out okay. He had a nice little flower shop in Suburbia Land, (Southampton) but as close to the ocean as you could get while also making it so people could like, find the store in the general mess of touristy little shops.

Plus, it was kinda weird to sell flowers on the beach, as much as Evan loved the beach. The salty smell, the sand... but he was pretty sure that flowers died faster on the beach. Something about the salt.

He wasn't sure, but it was better to be safe than sorry.

Anyway, being the owner, manager, and lone employee of _The Bloom Room_ meant he spent a lot of time there, and met a lot of weird people.

Most everyone was nice, didn't mind his stutter, bought flowers, and left.

And then there were the ones he told his mom about over Skype.

There was the college student who'd come in every other day, always with black holes under her eyes and toting 200 pounds of books and buy a small bouquet of purple zinnias. Later, he found out that she was Alana Beck, and she was gradually proposing to her girlfriend with a bouquet and one word, written in a different cipher each day. After one hundred eighty-two days, there was a crossword puzzle rather than a word, and there were nine crossword puzzles, spelling out a sappy Shakespearean love sonnet asking Zoe Murphy to marry her.

She also collected the world record for longest marriage proposal afterwards, and she made a copy of the certificate and gave it to him, framed. It now hung on the wall next to a picture of Alana and Zoe.

There was the extremely old lady who came on grand opening day, determined to buy every flower in the shop, one flower a day. She was still alive, and she was still buying flowers. She was nice, too, they'd chat for a bit every time she came in, about what new shenanigans her granddaughter was getting into, her cats, and her childhood.

There was Bill C. Roland, who came in one day in the middle of winter, and bought every single type of petunia Evan had in stock. The ones in cute coloured pots, the ones in less cute black plastic things, and all the bouquets that had petunias in them. He never came back.

Then there was Connor L. Murphy.

He'd come in and bought a large bouquet of red roses, and when Evan went into the back to get the bouquet, rather than give him the display bouquet, he was gone, and so were forty bucks of white roses.

He reported the theft, but nobody really takes a flower shop seriously.

And then, Connor came back.

"Look, I'm sorry, for the fucking roses I stole. I brought you the thirty bucks," he said in response to Evan's death glare.

"It was 41.50," Evan said through gritted teeth.

Connor pulled out a credit card. "Then I'll pay 41.50. By the way, where are you from?"

"Um... New Jersey...?"

"Damn. Thought you were from Tennessee."

Evan stared at him.

"...Because you're the only ten I see."

"Good grief. That was terrible. A-also... also, you're flirting with... with th-the guy you stole flowers from?"

"I mean, you sell flowers, that's, like, ten thousand points for Team 'He Gay."

"Bisexual. Would you be interested in... in buying a potted succulent? Brand new product."

"Wow, all business, aren't we? Boys and girls. Do you ever loosen up?"

"No. I r-run this... this shop with anxiety as... a-as my gasoline."

Connor laughed. "Jesus, you should put that on a fuckin tee shirt. But seriously. Wanna go see a movie?"

"Was stealing the flowers just a ploy to get me to date you?"

"Yes."

Evan sighed. "Okay, fine. But if you steal a single... single p-petal.."

"Deal."

-

Okay, Connor was actually a pretty cool guy. He was a polar opposite to Evan, but somehow... they clicked. Like magnets.

So maybe they did start dating. And hey, maybe a couple flowers disappeared every now and then. But that was fine! Evan could turn a blind eye to it all day long.

That is, until Zoe came up to him.

"Evan... do you have any idea what my brother is doing with those flowers?"

"Burning them? Giving them to old ladies?"

"No. Evan, he's a hitman for a Mafia gang. He puts the flowers into the bodies of the people he shoots. You need... I can't have you getting hurt, Evan."

So Evan drove to New York, all the way up to Buffalo, where Connor lived, and knocked on the door of his residence. A nice, brick house.

A tall man with grey hair answered the door.

"Is Connor here?" Evan asked.

The man paled. "Connor... I wouldn't try to interact, son. But if you must... he lives in the Mafia headquarters. Twenty miles away. I can write down the address, if you need."

"That'd be nice, if you... if you don't mind."

The actual place Connor lived was a crumbling row house, splayed from top to bottom with graffiti in English and Italian, and black spray paint.

Evan didn't bother knocking, he just came in, ignored the various gang members he passed, and made a beeline for Connor, lying on a dirty red velvet couch with cigarette burns, various stains, and it leaked stuffing out of a giant rip. He was smoking a blunt and inspecting a gun.

"So it's true then," Evan choked.

Connor looked up and scrambled to sit up. "Evan. It's not what it looks like-"

"Oh, so it doesn't look like you're in a gang, it doesn't look like you've got a gun, it doesn't look like I got the address from your dad, who told me repeatedly that I shouldn't be doing this? Because... because th-that's what it fucking looks like, Connor."

"Evan..."

"No. Connor. We're fucking done."

Just as Evan finished his sentence, he heard gunshots outside, and Connor stumbled up, dropping the smoking blunt on the couch.

"Shit. They're here. You broke up with me at a really fucking bad time, Evan."

"Who's h-here?"

"The bad guys."

"Yeah, you're... you're r-right. He's s-standing right in front of me, and his middle... his m-middle name is Lazarus."

"Guess again. Spoiler alert, it's a rival gang."

A bullet broken through the window and zoomed past Evan, just inches away.

"How convenient."

"Get fucking down, Evan."

And so he did. He got under the couch, and he waited, while glass shattered, bullets zoomed past, and people yelled.

And then all was quiet.

He decided it was okay to climb out from under the couch. It was starting to crush his ribs, anyway.

But he found himself staring down the barrel of a loaded shotgun.

A bang, and everything went black.

 


	4. update (sorry fam)

nanowrimo is about to happen, and im going to be taking a kind-of break from fanfiction. i may or may not update some ongoing multi-chaps (SKIP, chocolate chip bagels & watercolour paints, & then she's gone again, don't fuck with the red scrunchie, etc.) if i need to take a break from my nano story. all ongoing requests, those will be first priority when i need a break from nano, but you should probably not expect more than 1 request posted between now & nano. i'll try and get 1 more request done before then, but any new requests will not be first priority, unlike the current 2 i have, which _will/are_ first priority. 

hope that makes sense! keep sending in requests if you want, but they probably won't be posted until december. sorry, fam, i know this is kinda soon, since i _just_ posted this,,,,,,, what? a week or 2 ago? yeah. but nano will be my priority during november.

feel free to buddy on nano, i have the same username minus the underscore on there (space dev), and/or send me mail. i will almost always do sprints/word wars if you want to do something like that with me. 

wear your seatbelts, dudes. 

 

~ dev


	5. requests BACK OPEN *woo*

long story short i abanonded this for too long and here we are. ill be completing the previous requests ASAP ASAP but after that, please no longer request boyf riends or treebros, thx ily wear your seatbelts 


	6. truths ive yet to find (a world i can’t live in)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for MunchyMoon! sorry this took forever lol hope you like it!

Rich Goranski was the Lord of HTML.

That was literally his title.

The SQUIP hadn’t wanted him to get too cocky with his title, so HTML it was, despite the fact that he didn’t know any.

The SQUIP could probably teach him, but he didn’t care.

All he did these days were carry out the SQUIPs orders and work on finding the right human body for it. It needed a physical form, and they couldn’t seem to find the one that was juuust right. The SQUIP didn’t feel like going along with him on every mission and having to dictate everything, so he’d often occupy the body of the first cocktail waitress to come by next until Rich got back.

”Rich. Wake up. You have a new mission.”

That was his morning greeting. Standard greeting, if there wasn’t a new mission it would simply be “Rich. Wake up.”

The same electric voice of steel, the same fear and defeat he felt in his bones every day.

He only woke when the SQUIP wanted him to. Sometimes he was asleep for days, weeks at a time. The SQUIP didn’t always need a functioning body to get work done.

He was never directly told how long it’d been since the last time he was awake, but he was pretty sure at one point, he’d been out for around two months. He didn’t know what year it was, month it was, what day of the week it was, or even what time it was, unless he was in the Bad World on a mission.

The Good World was here. A giant city full of happy, SQUIP-ified people. Everyone was content with their lives, everyone had exactly what they needed, and everyone had no control over their lives.

He got up, showered, stepped into the closet naked and dripping wet, where the dryers automatically started and dried him in a few seconds, and meanwhile, the SQUIP chose his clothes.

A polo shirt and jeans, some Vans. In a rough, muddy backpack the SQUIP instructed him to grab from a corner, he put in three more pairs of jeans, each impeccably tailored to fit him perfectly, four t-shirts, and a pile of boxer underwear and a few pairs of socks.

”You’re to go to the Bad World, and collect Jake Dillinger, and bring him to me. In one piece. That is all,” the SQUIP told him.

”Got it,” he mumbled, going through the list of people that would soon walk by, placing bets with himself whom the SQUIP was likely to occupy next.

Darla the maid, it was decided.

As the SQUIP adjusted it’s beach blonde hair and the skirt of the electric blue maid’s uniform, it told Rich he had three days. Exactly three days.

”Go to the transporter. Code is 8071.”

The transporter was just a touchscreen on the wall near the maid’s quarters, and a ten-foot-wide circular object hanging from the ceiling, looking like a simple light, but when Rich punched in the code, it turned purple, and light enveloped him, teleporting him to the Bad World.

-

He was in a school. He vaguely remembered this place, the smell of mystery meat, the beige walls with stains of various colours and consistencies decorating it nicely.

This is why the Good World was so nice. No bland walls with stains, no bad smells, no teenagers tramping you to the ground as you studied their hellish little school.

But that’s what happened, and one minute Rich was standing, looking around, and the next, an ear-splitting bell ringing, and a wave of students knocked him to the ground.

”Hey, you okay, dude?” He heard someone ask, and when he looked up, there was-

A tall guy, velvety brown eyes, brown skin, basketball jacket, jeans, annoying green backpack, annoyingly beautiful smile.

He stared.

_Thinking about people of the same sex sexually or romantically will make people not like you, Richard. Is that what you would like?_

”No,” Rich said, and he didn’t realise he’d said it aloud until the guy titled his head. “Sorry, didn’t catch that, what’d you say? Here, lemme help you up.”

As the guy pulled him up with strong arms and Rich looked up at him at his full height of six four, he remembered.

Jake Dillinger.

He remembered a night, so long ago, hot and heavy, ice cold sheets, smiles and affection. 

He remembered how good it felt for someone to finally care.

And then the next day he’d drunk Mountain Dew.

”Jake?”

Jake knew him too.

”Rich. It’s you! Where have you been?! We thought you were dead! People said you popped up around town occasionally but I never believed it what are you doing here what ha-“

”I have to take you to him.”

”What?”

”Eight zero seven one,” Rich said aloud, and grabbed Jake’s hand as purple light began to envelope him.

”Rich, what on Earth-“

-

“Funny, how you finally deliver something on time. Not counting travel time, that only took you twenty hours. Still bad.”

Rich knew it’d taken a lot less time than that. But the SQUIP was always right. He just nodded.

”Henrietta, please set up a bed for Mr. Dillinger in Lord HTML’s bedroom. We wouldn’t want our guest to be uncomfortable. Please get Darla to help you.”

A blinding pain, and then the SQUIP was back in Rich’s body, but after a moment, he was gone again, and just as Darla was picking herself back up, her eyes turned back blue from their normal brown.

”Perhaps I’ll stay with Darla for a bit. Henrietta, get Priscilla to help you. Dismissed.”

Henrietta bowed and scurried off, before the SQUIP turned to Rich and Jake.

”Show Jake the bedroom. You may stay awake for the moment.”

”Yes, sir.”

”Dismissed.”

As soon as they rounded the corner, Jake grabbed Rich by the shoulders and shook him hard.

”What the fuck?! What did you do, Rich?”

”What I had to do.”

”That lady-“

”Technically it’s genderless, since it’s a computer, but it prefers to be referred to as a man.”

”It’s a computer?!”

”It’s a long story.”

”And what are you?! Her servant?!”

“Technically, I’m the Lord of HTML.”

”You’re pulling my leg.”

”Do I look like I’m joking, asshole?” Rich snapped. He instantly regretted calling Jake an asshole, but he was taught to be one himself (Rich, not Jake) so be didn’t apologise. Jake’s hurt expression was tampering with his Feel No Emotions protocol (Protocol 880)

”So you’re the Lord of HTML. Who’s the lord of JavaScript?”

”This isn’t a joke. I’m not supposed to have any real power. It doesn’t matter, anyway, nobody cares. Everyone’s happy.”

”Alright, Lord HTML, what’s up with the lady with boob implants and that beach blonde side pony?”

-

Rich had taken him to the bedroom and explained everything as best he could. It took awhile, but it did leave Jake sitting on the new bed, dumbfounded and silent, for a bit.

”We have to escape, Rich. You can’t live like this.”

”The SQUIPs hub is in my brain. Unless you have Mountain Dew Red, we aren’t going anywhere. I learned that a long time ago.”

”Code Red? I have some in my backpack,” Jake said, and to Rich’s astonishment, it was actually in there.

“Didn’t someone search you before you came to the throne room?”

”Nope.”

”I feel like the SQUIP would’ve taken something that could hurt it out. And I’m pretty sure the correct Mounatin Dew Red is the kind they discontinued in, like, the sixties or something.”

”Maybe this one just stuns it. If we could stun it long enough, would you be able to get us back to the real world?”

”...Probably.”

”Then let’s go,” Jake said, getting up, shoving the bottle back in his backpack.

”Jake! We can’t just run off with reckless abandon without at least thinking about things!”

”Let’s see. It’s a futuristic world where people are controlled by computers in their brains. Nobody but you has any semblance of free will. And how long will it be until you don’t have free will, either?”

”When the SQUIP finds a proper body to permanently inhabit forever and control. It doesn’t like using my body, says I’m too short.”

”Bullshit. You’re perfect, Rich.”

”I’m not.”

Jake swooped in and pecked Rich on the cheek. “Trust me, you’re beautiful. Come on.”

Rich ran after him, utterly confused and at the same time, filled with new energy.

When he caught up to Jake, he’d clearly poured the soda over the SQUIP, and it was screaming, in Darla’s voice, and it almost looked like it was melting, like the Wicked Witch of the West.

Rich grabbed Jake, pulled him to the teleporter, and watched as the fading SQUIP melted away in the purple light.


End file.
